Fallout: Alliance
by Der Namenlose
Summary: A mysterious signal. Two legendary heroes. One journey to unite the Mojave Wasteland and the Capital Wasteland. But will this alliance succeed? Or will powerful foes bring about an end to what is left of society in this war-torn land?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Same ol' Crap

At the top floor of a casino, that many say is a myth...in an ancient city of sin and loss, where fortunes were made and fortunes were spent, a man stands above. He had taken on the legions of Caesar, wrestled with the two headed bear, and perhaps the greatest of all they say...killed a god.

This man, is The Courier.

Every beginning has an end, and every end...a beginning. This is the story of The Courier's last quest, one that would take him halfway across the desolate Wasteland that was once one of the Old World's most powerful nations. He may find technology, treasure, secrets of the Old World.

Or...perhaps an equal.

At the moment, the Courier is looking out into the Wastes from his fortress. Not thinking, just watching.

Watching...

Watching...

... "I'm so *&%#ing bored..." he says without thinking.

"Maybe I can fix that," a familiar voice said.

Veronica stepped out of the nicely padded elevator, carrying her clipboard filled with the weekly reports of the various groups and factions throughout all of the Mojave.

"The Fiends are trying to set up a new main base inside of Vault 11 it seems." Veronica said. "Cassidy said she should have that taken care of in a couple of days, all she needs is a couple...hundred...pounds of...dynamite. Boone is also reporting that the NCR is finishing scavenging through the remnants of Caesar's camp and should be out of the area in about a week."

The Courier then realized that it was Monday, the day of the week that Veronica usually gave the reports of what's been happening, as the Courier rarely left The Strip by any method other than Transportalponder.

As Veronica continued to drone on, the Courier began to think of a strange sight he saw a couple of weeks ago, as he stalked the Alpha deathclaw of the Promontory. He was just fresh off a kill of one of the young deathclaws, quite possibly the Alpha's favorite, as it seemed to stop and sniff its corpse and mourn its loss. This was when The Courier took the shot, and allowed the father to reunite with his son. As he continued patrolling the Promontory, looking to finish off the mother deathclaw, he came across a sight stranger than even the Think Tank. There, leaning against the blood stained rock, was an Enclave soldier, and to his left, a Brotherhood Paladin. Both were long dead by this point, ripped apart by the inhabitants of the Promontory.

The Courier marveled at this sight, for it seemed two forces, so unwavering in their hatred for each other, were able to join together to fight a much greater enemy.

The Courier then realized a shadow was being cast upon him: a very tall, ominous shadow. He sighed for a second, as the Mother deathclaw roared and began to lunge at him. The courier drew a combat knife from his hip, and stabbed the Mother deathclaw through the roof of her mouth, going into her brain and killing her instantly. As her body became limp, he could feel the weight pressing down on him. The Courier stepped to the side, with the familiar chime of "CRITICAL HIT" ringing out from his Pip boy. _"Critical hit."_ He thought, _"Man, that wasn't quite as much fun as I'd hope it would be. Sometimes I hate being so lucky."_

"Hey! Are you even listening!" Veronica yelled in an almost insulted voice and the courier snapped back to reality. "I do all this work for you, compile the reports, negotiate with the NCR, make the medical supplies, and keep that heap of a power plant of yours from breaking down! The least you could show is some gratitude and listen to what i have to say!" The courier just stood there looking out the window of the lucky 38 towards the Long 15 wondering what was beyond the Mojave, as well as what adventures he could be having right now if he wasn't bogged down with making sure it didn't implode. Realizing the Courier wasn't even paying attention anymore, Veronica walked back to the elevator. "Fine then, I'll tell you about the signal next week!" And she boarded the elevator. The Courier followed her, and as the doors started to close, the Courier stuck his foot inside looking at her curiously. "What...signal?" He asked as he popped open a new bottle of whiskey and started to chug it.

"Well, I figured that you would be jumping for joy at this news, but if you're just going to burn through another month's supply of beer-"

"Whiskey"

"Whatever! Then I'll just send out a Brotherhood scouting party instead." With that, the Courier threw the bottle at the wall behind her, and roughly took the clipboard from Veronica.

"What is it?" The courier, flipped through the clipboard, squinting to try to read the print.

"A new quest."

The Courier's Pip-Boy made a ringing noise, the Courier looked at it to find a message that he had only seen five times before.

A message telling him that a new area was opening for exploration.

The Courier stared at Veronica with blissful glee at her words. The next second, he embraced her with a bearhug that would have broken a Deathclaw's spine. Veronica, half startled, half fearing for her life, punched The Courier with her power fist, sending him flying into the reinforced glass of the Lucky 38's window, causing it to fracture. The Courier proceeded to pick himself up, and Veronica watched with chagrin as the monocytes in his body began repairing the damaged bones and skin caused by her superheated Saturnite fist, a gift from The Courier's journey to the Big MT. As the elevator door closed she thought of how a wasteland doctor could have gotten a technology like the monocytes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A New Day

Five years; that was how long it had been since the Wanderer had survived the events of Mothership Zeta and all but concluded his grand adventures in the Capital Wasteland. It was early in the morning, as the Wanderer reflected on his past adventures. He remembered how he had left the comforts of his home, Vault 101, in search of his father. He remembered how this had led him on a grand journey, a journey which took him from the Vault to Megaton to D.C., as well as plenty of other places in the vast and surrounding wastes. He recalled how he had found his father, only to lose him again at the hands of the Enclave, and how he joined the Brotherhood in order to save the legacy his parents had left behind in this world, a purifier for all the water in the Capital Wasteland. It was working splendidly, the caravans were now guarded by at least one brotherhood squad each, and more people were recruiting every day for caravan protection detail.

Clean water was flowing as freely through the capital wasteland as blood had been before, and the people were all the better for it. There was still the occasional raider attack, and a few disputes between towns over who deserved more water, but all in all, the Capital Wasteland had been pretty peaceful for the past couple of years.

The Wanderer sat in his newly renovated home in Megaton, he was now not only the leader of Project Purity, he was also the Brotherhood's head scientist helping to make sure the project would run as smoothly as possible, as well as to aid in rebuilding Liberty Prime and making the most of the strange technology acquired from "Mothership Zeta.". While sitting as his desk logging in how many gallons of water each settlement received, Dogmeat came and brought him a note with the Brotherhood of Steel symbol on it. He tugged and pulled at it for several minutes until he let it go, covered in dog slobber. He opened the letter, and out fell a chip on to his desk. "Strange." he thought, and then began reading the letter.

"Dear Wanderer.

We here at the Citadel have received a strange transmission coming from the West. We're not sure what it is, but it appears to be advanced technology. While the technology provided from the Alien Ship has helped immensely in the rebuilding of Liberty Prime, it is too advanced for us to finish rebuilding some of his vital systems. If you would, please go and investigate this signal. The chip that is with this package has all the details and simply needs to be attached to your pip boy to upload the information.

Sincerely,

The Brotherhood of Steel."

"What's that?" said a voice from behind the Wanderer.

The Wanderer turned around to see a six year-old girl standing before him, with a curious look on her face and a teddy bear grasped in her hands. "Ah, Marie, I didn't see you there." The Wanderer said to her smiling. "You're up rather early. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Daddy!" Marie replied. "So, what'cha doin'?"

The Wanderer had adopted Marie four and a half years ago. She had been part of the reason he had settled down in Megaton; after all, he didn't need to constantly risk his life like he used to now that he had a daughter to raise. However, this letter presented an opportunity for the Brotherhood and all the Capital Wasteland, one that could guarantee the safety of all its inhabitants for quite some time. He didn't know what to do.

"Oh, it's nothing. How about we make some breakfast?"

As they proceeded to cook breakfast, the Wanderer continued to ponder the message. He didn't want to leave Marie, but if the Brotherhood could rebuild Liberty Prime, then at long last the Capital Wasteland could be fully secured at last. Not that the Brotherhood hadn't been able to deal with the situation up to this point, but having Liberty Prime back would be an absolute guarantee of the safety of every citizen in the region. Furthermore, the potential technology could aid in gaining control over all the systems of Mothership Zeta.

Up until this point, Mothership Zeta had remained mostly a mystery. They could control the basics, but no one was able to figure out how to actually fly it, launch more teleporters, or operate other advanced systems. If there was some kind of advanced tech to be had somewhere in the middle of this once great country, they could possibly use it to finally figure everything out...

"You're thinking about somethin', I can tell." Marie said.

The Wanderer snapped back into the present, away from his thoughts. Marie was looking at him with a smile on her face, though she was obviously concerned. The Wanderer knew she could tell that something was up. He remained silent for another moment, then he finally spoke.

"Marie, I may have to go away for a while; longer than usual. Something really important has come up, and it could really help all the people around here. But I'm going to have to travel quite a ways, so you'll need to go stay with Sheriff Simms for a while, ok?"

"Aww, can't I go with you just this once?" She asked. "I promise I'll be really good!"

"Not this time Marie; someday, I promise. Just not this time." Marie frowned, clearly upset that her father was leaving again, and on a trip as serious as this. "Don't worry though. This trip may be longer than usual, but I promise I'll be back before you know it, ok?"

Marie pouted for a moment, before finally giving him another smile, saying, "Oh, ok. But you better be back soon!" With that, the Wanderer finished his breakfast, and prepared for another grand adventure in the Wasteland.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Start of a Journey**

Raul Tejada was sitting in front of his shack, looking towards New Vegas, it was evening, and the bright lights of the city were starting to turn on. Raul was waiting for the Courier. He had received word earlier that day that the Courier would be stopping by to have some of his equipment repaired by "his favorite pile of rotting flesh," the messenger (who was a ghoul) was surprised to see Raul chuckle a bit at this "insult".

"_Boss is still the same old _pendejo_, good to see being leader of the Mojave hasn't changed that," _Raul thought when he received the message.

Raul had put on his mechanic outfit again, having long since put up his cowboy outfit for the second time in his life. This time, it was to help people in a different way, now that law had been restored to the Mojave, his mechanic skills were proving to be more useful than his gun slinging.

Finally, he could see the Courier walking over a hilltop, in the duster that he wore the day of the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, the duster with the number 21 emblazoned on its back. Raul got up from his table and went over to shake the Courier's hand.

"Hello boss, long time no see. How's being the king of the Mojave going for you?"

The Courier laughed and patted Raul's back. "Boring as Hell, Raul. I swear, sometimes I wish I never solved the Mojave's problems. You know how many times I've wanted to put a bullet between my eyes 'cause of how bored I've been?"

"Enlighten me, I'm sure your answer will provide me with great insight into that complex mind of yours."

"Yeah, unfortunately these damn monocytes and the Think Tank's modifications would keep me alive and give me a hell of a headache." The courier uncapped a bottle of whiskey and took a swig and offered some to Raul. "Thirsty? Being the king of New Vegas does have it's perks."

Raul took out a bottle of tequila in response. "No thanks boss, got my own. Made it myself."

The two of them toasted and looked out over the Mojave Wasteland. "It sure has come a long way boss, when I met you, I never would have thought you'd be the guy to rule over this place, let alone drive out all the raiders and take out both Deathclaw nests. How'd you do that anyway, you use that Esther?"

The Courier chuckled a little. "No way would I use Esther for something like that! I just used an anti-material rifle, a riot shotgun, and a trench knife. Wasn't too hard, mother was actually the easiest."

"I heard you killed her with your bare hands."

"No, trench knife through the roof of the mouth into the skull, got lucky...again." The Courier sighed. "I swear Raul, I hate being lucky sometimes, just takes the fun outta everything knowing the odds are always tipped in your favor."

"Maybe you could give me some of that luck boss, sure could use it."

"Trust me, if I could I'd give it to you." The Courier went to take another swig of whiskey, only to realize his bottle was empty. "Hey, you mind?"

"Help yourself." Raul said, passing his tequila to the Courier.

"Well, enough chit-chat Raul, I think you know what I'm here for." the Courier said as he filled up his whiskey bottle with Tequila. "I need some maintenance done to my weapons, I'm going on a new quest and could be gone for a while."

"Where you heading?"

"Well, actually, that brings up another thing I was gonna ask," the Courier said, looking out towards the East, "How old were you when the Great War happened?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Did you ever travel outside of Mexico?"

"No."

"Crap, well, thanks anyways," The Courier sighed.

"Where you going, boss?"

"Well, the quest I received said I needed to go to someplace in the southeastern American Wastes."

"_Maldito! _You going that far? What's the quest about?" Raul asked, looking at the Courier in surprise.

"Raul, you were there when I got the message about the Sierra Madre," the Courier said, locking eyes with Raul, "did I care to research the damn thing? No. What's more, you were also at the High-Roller Suite when I dropped off Arcade before I went to Zion. Did I care about the location I was going? No; I went to those places because I was curious, and I wanted a fresh experience," he finished, looking back towards New Vegas.

Raul stared at him for a few moments.

Whether the Courier didn't speak for a while because he was sorry that he snapped at Raul, or because he was starting to wonder if his luck would run out on this venture, neither of them could say.

"...Besides," the Courier mumbled, "doesn't help that I'm bored out of my damn mind."

The Courier pulled out some stuff from his backpack, along with his Pip-Boy, dropped the stuff next to Raul's feet, said "Nice talking to you," and then walked off towards New Vegas. After about a few moments he called back towards Raul and said, "Need that all fixed in a week."

Raul watched the Courier walk off and said quietly, "Sure thing boss."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Final Preparations**

The Lone Wanderer stood outside the Citadel. He had left Marie back home, and was now ready to begin his journey. First, however, he needed to sort out a few things. Namely getting his weapons checked and being briefed on the signal. As he approached the Citadel in all of its pre-war glory, he began reminiscing about the battle for the purifier. A fully armored Brotherhood member came out to greet the Wanderer.

"Sir, I have been given orders to escort you directly the the central command room for further briefing. Please, follow me."

"Fine, fine." The Wanderer said as he followed the Brotherhood Paladin.

"So, can you tell me anything else about what's going on and why they're sending me out on this mission?"

"I don't have the authorization to sir; Paladin Lyons wants to keep this strictly on a need to know basis. He does not want any chance of you possibly getting ambushed by raiders or Enclave remnants."

The Paladin opened the door to the central command chamber. Not much had changed, they used the same computers, the walls were still lit up by the glow of the Capital Wasteland map which now had water caravan routes in addition to the regular Brotherhood patrol routes. The main difference was the fact that Liberty Prime was now standing in the middle of the room, a skeleton of his former self, he still needed his armor plating and some of his circuitry still needed to be rebuilt due to the intense heat of the artillery strike fusing some of it together, but the Brotherhood was ahead of schedule for the most part. "Fantastic." The Wanderer said as he gazed up at the metallic giant.

"It is, isn't it?" a voice said. The Wanderer turned around and saw his old follower Star Paladin Cross. "We'd still just be building the torso if it wasn't for the tech you brought back from that alien ship. You've helped to accelerate the project tenfold."

"Cross!" The Wanderer laughed while shaking hands with her "What're you up to now? Did they promote you?

"Well, they have me keeping tabs on the patrols now, along with getting the new recruits up to speed, so no. So, what are you here for Wanderer?"

The Wanderer took off his backpack and sat it on the ground. "I need to get some repairs done to some of my equipment. Haven't used it in a while, so need to have the focusing mirror checked, batteries charged, emitters replaced. That sort of thing." Cross then started to look over the wanderer's plasma rifle.

"I'll say, you have not been taking care of your weapons ever since you stopped adventuring." She said as she picked up the bag. "I'll get these down to the armory. In the meantime you go see Lyons and Sarah for your briefing." And with that, she walked down the hall and disappeared. The Wanderer walked around the construction area of Liberty Prime and found Lyons and his daughter Sarah looking at a map with an unfamiliar area with no markings on it, not even a Vault symbol.

"Hello Wanderer." said Sarah. "Good to see you, everything going all right with the purifier?"

"The guards you sent over to protect it would make a deathclaw think twice before setting a foot near it." the Wanderer said as he smiled and shook her hand. "So, what's the situation on this signal you all were telling me about?"

"Well," said Lyons, "we don't really know much about it. It just appeared about a week ago. All we know besides its location is that it appears to be coming from some advanced old world technology. The signal itself is broken up and proving difficult for even our top scribes to recover."

"So, why are you sending me in then?" the wanderer said as he inspected the map. "Why not just send in a Brotherhood scouting party?"

"We would, but right now we have all of our paladins and scouts working on keeping the water supply free and crime down in the Capital. We may have recruits coming in left and right, but they take time to train. You're the only free man we have to send on this mission, and the only man I trust." Lyons said as he brought down the map. "So, will you take on this assignment, for the betterment of all of the Capital Wasteland?"

The Wanderer turned around with a smile on his face, chuckling at Lyon's request. "Alright, I'll take it. If you think that whatever is out there could help the people here, then I don't see a reason not to."

"Good then." Said Lyons, handing over another chip with more geographical information about the terrain on the way to the location of the signal. "We'll get you suited up and ready for duty within the next 24 hours. Good luck."

"Thank you sir, I won't let you down," replied the Wanderer.

"I know you won't, that's why I'm sending you!" joked Lyons. "By the way, the offer still stands, if you're interested."

The Wanderer knew exactly what he meant. A few months ago Lyons had offered his own position in the Capital Wasteland sector of the Brotherhood of Steel to the Wanderer. Lyons was starting to worry about how much good he could be to the Brotherhood at his age, as well as how many years he even had left. "Thank you sir, but I think it would be best if you found someone else," the Wanderer replied.

"Very well then," Lyons said as he walked away. Before he left, however, Lyons turned back to the Wanderer, smiled, and said, "But, as always, the offer still stands."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Going-Away Party

The Courier sat up at the top of his tower looking down over New Vegas, just like he was a few nights ago. This time however, it was with purpose and anticipation, something he had not felt in quite a while. The Courier then began to contemplate and look back on all of his adventures with his friends and companions, remembering how much he learned about each of them, from Veronica and her want of reform, to Boone's troubled past, each one had a unique and different story. The Courier then looked down at his Pip-Boy, and opened a channel to Veronica.

"Veronica, hey I need to take care of one more thing before I head out in the next couple of days."

"What is it this time? I already told you that we've received our monthly supply of liquor from the farmers!" The Courier chuckled at this statement. He knew he needed to cut back on his drinking, but he did it because without drinking he wouldn't have as much fun against enemies due to his unnaturally high luck.

"No no, though we could always use more whiskey. No, I'd like to organize a going away party with all of you guys tomorrow at the Ultra-luxe. Think you can make the arrangements?"

Veronica yelled into her mic, "I've got twenty other things going on right now, including trying to get you more information for your journey to the heart of the Old World! Why don't you try to do something on your own for once?"

"I'll get you a new dress." The Courier said in a sly tone.

It took several seconds for Veronica to respond to this offer.

"What color?", she finally responded.

"Checkerboard black and white pattern, brand new, fresh as fresh can be in this wasteland." The Courier said with a smile on his face trying to hold back a laugh.

"Fine, but you will have to make the arrangements with the Ultra-luxe, I really do have my hands full down here. But I can at least get the word out to the others." Veronica said in a half-defeated tone.

"Deal," said the Courier and he took a quick swig of whiskey to celebrate the soon to be had farewell party.

Eight hours later, the Courier was sitting in the dining area of the Ultra-Luxe, the people who were already there, who were also residents of the Mojave, became quiet when they saw their king sitting in the same room as them, as he rarely left the Lucky 38 on anything other than a killing mission, or for a public relations speech.

He arrived earlier than his companions, and when he noticed that the other diners were not speaking, or doing much of anything, he figured it was because he was in the room. He then gave a shout, "Don't worry, I doubt that any of you have done anything to piss me off." This was invitation enough for the diners, and they began talking again, though with the Courier's keen ears listening to them, they watched what they said.

At that moment the doors behind him opened and in came Cass, Boone, Veronica, Raul, and Arcade. The Courier walked up to them and shook each of their hands. "Hey guys, what's up? Are you doing a good job making sure that the Mojave doesn't implode?"

Cass proceeded to punch the Courier lightly on the shoulder, "Of course we're keeping it all under control, not like you do anything anymore since you just sit up in that big fancy tower."

The Courier shook his head in disgust. "Please, don't remind me. I hate being cooped up in that tower all day, just looking at over the wasteland, remembering all the things I've done, like some old geezer."

"Oh yes, I can only imagine the immense pain that comes with sitting on one's rump doing absolutely nothing all day," Chimed in Arcade, "Just let me know when you would like to switch places, and I'll be up there in a split second.

Unfortunately I don't know a thing about medicine or science in general Arcade, other than the wonderful science behind explosives and guns. Why do you think I have you and Veronica around?"

They began walking over to the table.

Arcade continued, "I always thought it was my dashing looks and charisma, as for her, I have no idea."

Veronica glared at Arcade. "Do you WANT me to punch your arm out of its socket?"

"No thanks, you did that last week." Chuckled Arcade.

"Will you two calm down? You're starting to draw too much attention to us." Boone said in a dreary tone, removing his Elite Riot Gear helmet. "You're also starting to give me a headache."

Cass walked up behind Boone and smacked him on the back of his head, a whiskey bottle in her other hand. "Lighten up Boone. I swear you're about as much fun to hang out with as you are to work with. Besides, it's a party! Have fun, live a little!"

"Well, boss I must say this is a very nice place to hold a party. But if I may ask, why did you have it here instead of the Tops? Not to question your vast wisdom, but the Ultra luxe just wouldn't seem to suit your style...or any of our styles really."

"I figured it would present us in a more...political light. Plus this place has the best food on the strip." As the Courier said that, the waiters and cooks burst out of the kitchen carrying their meals which included Brahmin steaks, salads, pastas, soups, burgers, and tacos.

Veronica beamed at the Courier, surprised at him. "Wow, you actually ordered in advance? Amazing, and here I was thinking you couldn't get your pants on without me.", she said as she grabbed and took a bit out of a Brahmin burger. The waiters then brought out a selection of liquor and wine for the group to have as they enjoyed their dinners.

Two hours passed as the dinner went on, the table at this point was covered in plates, as well as whiskey, wine, tequila, and beer bottles. Everyone was drunk at this point and stuffed with food. The Courier looked at all of his friends and just laughed.

"Man, I do know how to throw a party..." It was after he said this that an idea struck him after looking at all of the plates and bottles on the table.

"Who wants to have a shooting contest!" The Courier yelled startling all of his guests back to life.

"Ha, like any of you guys could beat me. I'm the best shot here both sober or drunk." Cass said as she stumbled up out of her chair.

"Oh please," said Boone holding his head. "I outgun you everyday of the week."

"Your puny brains cannot hope to compensate for your drunkenness, luckily mine can!" Arcade said as he jumped up triumphantly, then began to stumble a little before collapsing back into his chair.

"Does punching count as shooting? You know I'm a lousy shot unless it's with a laser pistol." Said Veronica with her face in her plate.

"No Veronica, punching does not count as shooting." The Courier said raising himself up. "Waiter! We'll take all these bottles to go! Take them to the fountain out front."

"At once sir, and the bill?"

"Put it on my tab." Laughed the Courier as he and he companions got up staggering from the table.

Out front the Courier and his followers gathered and the bottles were lined up on the fountain.

"So we're really gonna do this huh." Said Boone, "You know I'll beat all of you guys, I've had actual military sniper training."

"Looks like we are Boone, don't think you're the only crack shot around here." Cass said drawing her cowboy repeater and lining up a shot on a wine bottle's neck, blasting it clean off. "See, what what'd I tell ya? Even when I'm drunk I'm still spot on."

"Well no offense Ms. Cassidy, but you're body pretty much runs on liquor." Said Arcade lining up a shot with his plasma pistol. "Besides, anybody can make a lucky shot." Chuckled Arcade lining up his shot, trying to compensate for his drunkenness. There was then a green flash of light, then a pile of goo where a bottle once stood. "See, my intellect can more than handle this slight impairment."

Boone then stepped up equipping an Anti-Material rifle.

"HEY! That's not fair Boone!" yelled Veronica.

"We never said what guns we'd use." Said Boone as he pulled the trigger, shattering five glasses and bottles with one shot. "So, do I win?"

"Not yet! I haven't gone yet!" Said Veronica equipping a ballistic fist and punching a few of the bottles with a haymaker. "There! There are only 6 bottles left now! And they're all spaced out. Your luck won't help you this time, Courier."

"Yeah, looks like I won this one." Said Boone.

"But I broke more than you!" Yelled Veronica.

"You didn't SHOOT them, this is a SHOOTing contest."

"Well, time to show you young people how an old ghoul does it," said Raul. With that, he whipped out his revolver and took six shots, all within the blink of an eye, and shattered all six remaining bottles.

The rest of the group just stood in partial disbelief, knowing the rumors of Raul's gunslinging but never actually seeing it first hand.

"Not bad." Said the Courier, who didn't care that he never got a chance to take part in the shooting contest.

Several hours of drinking and partying later, the Courier finally went to bed, looking forward to what the next day would bring for the first time in months.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Bad Memories

****The Wanderer had just reached the Western border of the Capital Wasteland. He left without many words said. Figured he didn't really need to, for the most part everyone he knew went their separate ways or just stayed where they were at.

He did have a nice little chat with the two residents of Girdershade, he hadn't talked to them in little over a year, and was glad to find them as a happy couple. He was also glad, albeit surprised, to find that their little museum was actually making money, people who would come in on the restored Duchess Gambit would stop there as a little tourist trap. The alternative would've been becoming bandits.

Now that he thought about it, a Hell of lot had changed since he left the vault, it seemed that every place he had gone to when he ventured around had become integrated with the Capital Wastes in some way.

Except for the Pitt.

But he didn't like to think about the Pitt, too many dark memories. Too many mistakes, the only thing good that came out of it was Marie and he could never tell her how he actually found her.

He also began to think about what he'd have to deal with on his way to "The Gateway" as the members of the Brotherhood said it was called. He knew he'd probably have to deal with a few deathclaws, maybe some enclave that had survived the destruction of their leadership. Super mutants were another thing, hopefully nothing too out of the ordinary though. At the same time, the wanderer hoped he would encounter some new enemies that he had never seen before. He figured that there wouldn't be anything worse than a behemoth on his way to the Gateway.

A few hours passed by and the Wanderer had made it past some more collapsed highway that led out of D.C. He began to figure that if he followed this, it would make it easier to actually get to his destination, and if he got lucky he might even be able to get on top of a large portion of highway. As he continued his walk, he got what he wanted, some highway had collapsed almost down to the road, and a car would allow him to walk up and onto it. Almost without hesitation, he climbed to the top to get a better view. At the top though, he found a sign. "Topside", it said, with an arrow pointing forward.

"Must be a town, it would be easy to defend in the case of raider attacks." He thought.

About a quarter of a mile down the stretch, he saw the roofs of the town...but something seemed amiss. "Hey, Med armor, can you give me a readout on this town?"

"Quick scan shows that there are several people exhibiting spikes of adrenaline in their system."

Thank God for advances in medicine, and alien tech. The medic power armor still had a serious drill sergeant personality, unless the Wanderer asked it a question.

"Anything else?"

"Yes, there are some dead bodies."

"You could have just told me that!"

"That wasn't your question!" Just then, several figures popped out around one of the houses. The Wanderer took out his gauss rifle to see what they were.

He saw three ghouls, one of them holding a glowing organ, probably its own.

"Feral reavers. Just wonderful."

The three reavers then broke into a mad dash for the wanderer as they caught sight of him, hungry for their next meal. The Wanderer then targeted them with his trusty gauss rifles and opened fire, nailing two square in the forehead. The last one got in too close for him to reload the rifle, so he switched to his Tri-laser rifle. With a steady hand, and the aid of V. ., he was able to land a few critical shots, crippling the reaver's arms before it got within melee range. The Wanderer drew his ripper given to him by the Brotherhood. The reaver lunged at the wanderer, snarling at him in rage, fury, and hunger. The Wanderer stood his ground though, and drove the ripper into its mouth and up through the top of his head, brains and blood spewing out like a fountain.

"I always hated fighting these things up close. Smell terrible, look terrible, fight terrible. But my ripper did need some lubricant"

The Wanderer then walked closer to the small town. "Hey! Anybody alive here?!"

A door then creaked open near him and a woman asked if the ghouls were gone.

"How many were there?" The Wanderer asked the woman.

"Only three, but they were pretty strong. We had some magnums and rifles but those didn't seem to do much damage."

"Then yeah, I got them all." the Wanderer said as he walked into the house. Inside was a man who had his leg almost completely twisted the wrong way with a few bite marks and some flesh torn off it.

"Do you think you can help him?" asked the woman.

"Well...looks like they did a number on him, but it doesn't look too bad." and he took out some bandages, stimpacks, and alcohol from the compartments on his armor. "Plus I know a thing or two about medicine."

The Wanderer then proceeded to pour alcohol on the wounds, then wrapped them up in a bandage, he then took a large piece of broken wood and set the legs man back to normal, using the remaining bandages to secure it. Finally, he injected a couple of stimpacks to help speed up the healing process and dull the pain.

"He should be back on his feet in a couple of weeks, just make sure to keep the bandages fresh and his leg in a splint. Is there anybody else that got hurt?"

"Thankfully no, my husband here was actually patrolling the town when they attacked, and was able to warn everybody to get inside. Do you need any supplies, it's the least we could do to thank you."

"No thanks." Said the Wanderer as he got back up to leave. "I've got enough already. Just glad to help."

With that, the Wanderer walked out the door, and continued on his way down the raised highway towards his next destination.

Unfortunately, it was only a five-minute walk before the highway dropped back to the ground and, for that matter, just stopped entirely. He was now going to have to rely on the maps and intel that the Brotherhood gave him to keep him out of trouble...but this made him smile as well. "I haven't felt like this since the time I walked out of the vault!" he thought.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Deja vu

****"Walking down the Long 15... shit... brings back memories," the Courier thought.

The Courier, using maps of the Old World, had begun heading South on the Long 15, which he would do until he reached the 40 And 4, the standard West-East passage, or, least it was until the Legion showed up in Arizona, according to Raul.

The Courier thought back to what Raul said, _"Used to, you could just take the 40 And 4, and it was a straight shot from New Vegas all the way to what's now called the Gateway, then it was a straight shot to the Capital Wasteland. Then the Legion showed up and the West and East were effectively cut off from each other. You'll need to be careful of Legionaries looking for vengeance. You know, since you killed their two leaders is all. Just keep your face covered, or you could always just shoot it off, that could also work with those monocytes you got in you. Might be painful though."_

After a few hours of walking, the Courier uncorked his canteen to take a sip of whiskey, only to find that Veronica had swapped his canteen and replaced it with water.

_"I'm going to kill that girl."_ Thought the Courier as he took a couple more swigs of water. As he continued on, the Courier saw a sign on the road advertising a small town saloon, and usually where there is a saloon, there is liquor.

_"I can probably grab some whiskey there, maybe even get a place to sleep for the night."_ Down the road the Courier went, until he found the no name town. There didn't seem to be much in it, a few people were roaming the streets, but nothing seemed too unusual. As he walked down main street, he finally came to the saloon. He could hear the glasses jingling and the smell of whiskey filled his nostrils as he waited outside. "Finally!" he said as he pushed aside the doors and rushed inside, where everything got quiet for a second.

_"Strange, do I got something on my face?"_ he thought as he approached the bar and set his pack down next to him. Soon things returned to normal with the sound of bottle caps hitting the table behind him and people starting up conversation. Everyone seemed to avoid the Courier though.

"Hello sir." The bar girl said as she walked up to where he was sitting. "What can I do for you here? We got scotch, beer, whiskey, tequi-"

"Whiskey!" The Courier blurted out throwing a few bottle caps on the bar.

"Um, very well sir." The bar girl said as she inspected the bottle caps for signs of forgery. "Also, feel free to gamble at our tables behind you. We don't have roulette, but we do have Texas Hold'em and Blackjack." she said as she gave him his drink. "Though we will ask you leave your weapons with us here. We don't want any trouble."

The Courier downed some of his drink and turned to go play some cards. He set himself down at a Texas Hold'em table, a hulk of a man sat next to him who reeked of chems and bad hygiene.

"So, what do you do for a living? Bounty hunter or something?" The Courier asked.

"Guess you could say I'm something like that." the man said as another card flew across the table from the dealer to him. "So are you going to play a couple of hands, or are you just going to sit?"

The Courier chuckled at this statement. He knew with his luck, he'd probably clean this man out pretty easy. Probably even cause a bar fight.

_"Sure, why not. I could use the spending money."_ So the game began, with the Courier putting in 10 caps as the ante and his opponent matching. The Courier looked at his cards, two and a three.

_"Well, that wasn't what I was expecting."_ Thought the Courier, his opponent looking rather confident. The Courier checked his hand, but his opponent decided to raise him by 50 caps so he was forced to match him. The dealer then dealt out three cards, a four, a six and a nine.

_"Could get a straight."_ thought the Courier, and he decided to check again, but his opponent decided to raise his bet up to 75. The fourth card came down, an Ace. His opponent decided to put in half his chips.

_"Definitely got 3 of a kind."_ and the Courier matched him cap for cap.

Final card came out and this time it was the five the Courier needed for his straight.

_"Knew I'd get it."_ the Courier thought with a sigh. His opponent however mistook this as a sign that he had just lost.

"You're not very good at keeping your cool, are you?" and his opponent revealed his three of a kind. "Just as I thought." Said the Courier and he revealed his straight, his opponent just looked at him stunned.

"Why did you sigh then if you had that?!"

"Because I knew I'd probably get it. It's boring when everything goes your way all the time with no challenge"

"What're you talking about?"

"I have a luck of 10, rated by a special machine, therefore, everything goes my way almost all the time. Specially when it comes to gambling. I can't really explain it, it just happens."

The bandit just stood up angrily at this statement and held his .357 magnum to the Courier's head. "Bullshit! You just cheated, probably counted cards or something." He said while he cocked the gun's hammer. "You look like you're pretty well off though, so tell you what, just give me all your caps and equipment, and I'll let you crawl back to New Vegas with at least one limb, I'll even let you choose which one."

The Courier just took a drink of his whiskey at this statement, and the dealer just stared at him with a fearful expression on his face. "Mister." Said the dealer. "You might wanna do what he says, this guy used to be part of the Fiends before they were wiped by the ruler of New Vegas and his posse. Why, he killed a guy here just last week because he thought he looked funny!"

The Courier put his head to the barrel of the bandit's magnum and rested it on it. "You know, this makes a pretty comfortable head rest." he chuckled.  
"All right!" the bandit yelled angrily. "I actually gave you a choice on whether to live or die, but have it your way!" And he pulled the trigger...nothing happened. "What the hell, I just fixed this thing yesterday!" and he started to pull the trigger again, but before he could the Courier knocked the magnum out of his hand.

"I may be lucky but I'm not an idiot." Said the Courier as he got up out of his chair. The bandit then tried to punch the Courier in the face, but the Courier leaned slightly to the right, dodging the punch but still feeling the wind off of it.

"I gotta admit, you have a good punch." The Courier said as he grabbed his bottle of whisky off the table and hit the bandit over the head with it, shattering the glass and spraying whiskey.

"Now you see what you made me do, I JUST WASTED PERFECTLY GOOD WHISKEY!"

"Lucky bastard!" Raged the bandit who now had glass fragments sticking out of his head and whiskey burning in his eyes. With the rush from an earlier hit of Psycho he had pumping through his system he didn't notice the pain, just the blurring of his vision. He then drew his knife and brandished it in front of the Courier, who in turn put on his brass knuckles.

"I'll kill ya nice and slow!" the bandit said menacingly, and he lunged at the Courier, aiming for his neck. The Courier smirked, blocked the knife with his brass knuckles and performed a scribe counter, knocking the knife out of the bandit's hand, and followed by giving uppercuts to the bandit repeatedly.

"You think you're the first guy that I've gotten in a bar fight with?" The Courier said.

The bandit just stood there staggering, his ears ringing. He'd been beaten into next Tuesday.

Not one to leave a job half-finished, the Courier reeled back and delivered a haymaker to the bandit's skull right as he got his senses back, sending the bandit through a wall.

"You people should get a sheriff, preferably a robotic one with high grade security." And he gave the dealer a card with a radio frequency, a name, and a passphrase. "Give the girl on the other end the name and passphrase on that card, and she'll help you guys out."

The Courier then collected his belongings from the front counter, a free bottle of whiskey from the bar girl , and walked out of the saloon and down the dusty road.

The dealer and the rest of the patrons of the saloon just looked on, mouths agape at what they had just saw. The bar girl then turned and asked the dealer what was on the card.

"It says...the Courier..."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Tiere der Vergangenheit

It had been a few days since the Wanderer left small town of Topside. Luck was apparently not been on his side now since he hadn't found another dropped portion of highway he could use to get back on high ground. Because of this he'd been forced to tackle some bandits and was now battling a lone deathclaw.

The only thing he actually had going for him now was his experience in the Capital Wasteland...and V.A.T.S. To cope with the bandits, he shot the weapons out of their hands using his V.A.T.S. system. For the deathclaw, he shot out its legs and peddled backwards, shooting the creature with his plasma rifle until it disintegrated into a gooey radioactive slime. "I'm glad this suit has an air filter in it, that goo reeks." He said disgustedly.

The Wanderer then began poking through the goo that was the deathclaw, finding a couple of bottle caps on it. He then picked up the discharged microfusion cells and continued onwards in the direction of The Gateway, unaware that he was being followed by something.

It had gotten late into the day since the wanderer's battle with the deathclaw at this point. The Sun was beginning to come down over the hills and he had decided that he had better make camp for the night. Using his ripper he chopped down a tree and cut off its branches for firewood and used the trunk as a bench, then he lit the firewood with a low powered laser burst from his pistol. "Ahhh, much better." He said as he took off the helmet to his medical power armor. Off in the distance he spotted a Mole Rat and shot it too with his laser pistol, killing it but not disintegrating it._ "That should last me for a while." _

The Wanderer then stretched out and began to enjoy his dinner of freshly cooked mole rat. "This beats those dinner rations any day of the week." The Wanderer took a big bite of his roasted mole rat and started to scan over the landscape for any signs of trouble. He saw something moving in the distance and picked up his guass rifle to get a better look. He thought it looked like a centaur.  
He then heard some rocks shifting above him. "I don't like thi-" before he could finish his thought, a relic from his past jumped down in front of him, snarling, muttering some gibberish. It was a trog.

"What the heck?! These things shouldn't be outside of the Pitt!" The Wanderer exclaimed as he shot the trog in the chest with his guass rifle, sending it flying away. The Wanderer then hurriedly grabbed his helmet and pulled out his plasma rifle, preparing for a fight. Two more trogs jumped down, one in front and one behind the Wanderer. It was then that the Wanderer noticed that the troggs had collars around their necks. "Someone might be controlling these things." he thought as he shot the trog in front of him with his plasma rifle, then turned around to land a punch on the trog behind him as it lunged.

After that the assault seemed to end, and the wanderer chopped the head off one of the troggs and removed its collar to study it. _"Looks like some kind of modified slave collar, though it doesn't have the explosive inside of it anymore...strange. Doesn't explain why they're so far out from the Pitt though."_ The Wanderer removed his helmet again and put it on his back to better examine the collar. The moment it was off though, he was whacked upside the head and knocked unconscious by the last trog, the one he saw through his scope that he had thought was a centaur. It had moved up during the fight and waited until he had his back turned. The Wanderer lied there on the ground, unconscious. The trogg that had knocked him out began dragging him toward its home.

-Sorry for the short chapter but I couldn't think of anything else to add to this-


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Arizonan Death Worm

The Courier has left the saloon and has now come to the end of the Long 15 and arrived at the start of the Fourty and Four. "Well, time for something new. Wonder what I'll see down this road." he thought to himself. He remembered the yao guai of Zion, the ghost people of the Madre, the Think Tank of the Big MT, and the tunnelers of the Divide. The Courier then trekked down the Fourty and Four, but after an hour of walking, nothing interesting came around.

There were a few fire ants here, a mole rat there, but still, nothing, not even a deathclaw for him to tussle with. "Really...is this all that's going to happen?" He sighed. He then noticed something out on the horizon, looking like a giant dust cloud. "O...k. That's new." he said, a smile growing on his face as he pulled out his anti-materiel rifle to get a better look. "Can't see a dang thing. Maybe it's a pack of deathclaws or something."

The Courier then fired a couple of rounds off in the direction of the cloud, hoping he would hit something to give him an indication of this thing's size. The dust cloud in front of the thing though prevented him from seeing if the rounds even made impact. "Damn it." The dust cloud now seemed to pick up speed, and the Courier heard a deep roar coming from its direction. Most people would have probably run by now, but the Courier only smiled and pulled out his magnum in anticipation.

The dust cloud was only about 100 yards out now, and the Courier began opening fire on it. Each shot at it seemed to make it gain speed., and the Courier began to get anxious, then he got an idea.

When the dust cloud was only 50 yards away, the Courier holstered his magnum, and took a firm stance on the ground, and he waited with arms outstreched.

30 yards...

20 yards...

10...

NOW!

The Courier jumped out of the way of the approaching cloud, turned around, and waited for it to stop, after a good 30 yards, it did, the Courier was quite shocked at what he saw.

A figure dressed in stripped down power armor was beginning to become visible, the figure was sitting atop a saddle, and the saddle was atop what could only be described as a giant worm. The worm was segmented, bright red, and had black spines going along its body, these spines twitched every so often and looked to act like some sort of armor for the worm, the worm, surprisingly, had a definite mouth structure that resembled a beak.

The figure on the back then jumped down from it's perch with a rifle in its hand. "Why were you shooting at us, are you a bandit or something?!" The Courier proceeded to pick himself up calmly and dusted himself off.

"No, not a bandit. And the reason I shot at you was because I didn't even know what the heck you were. Speaking of which...WHAT IS THAT THING?!" The courier yelled pointing at the worm.

"People 'round here call it a Dune-Runner," the figure said keeping its sights firmly on the Courier. "We use them as a form of transportation around here. Settlements are wide and few around here."

The Dune-Runner then spat up a thick yellow slime, which began sizzling the sand in front of it. "Oh yeah, they spit up acid too. Great for grenades. Now, get up on it, I'm taking you into town. We'll let the sheriff decide what to do with you."

The Courier just walked over and brushed his hand over the spines of the dune runner, inspecting it for signs of where his bullets hit. "Things can take a hit, I'll give 'em that much. I'll be sure to use armor piercers next time I run up against them."

"Hey!" shouted the figure. "Are you even listening to me?! I said get up on the worm or I'll shoot you in the head!"

The Courier just laughed at this statement and continued to look at the Dune runner, finally finding his bullet holes. "Look, whoever you are. You couldn't hit the broadside of...well this thing with that rifle. Just put it down before you hurt yourself."

Enraged by the Courier's words the figure tore off its helmet and revealed itself to be a woman, looking to be in her mid twenties. Her face was red with rage as she put the rifle right up next to the side of the Courier's face. "Get...on...the...Runner."

The Courier then turned suddenly and yelled right in the young woman's face, startling her and making her pull the trigger by accident. There was a click, but the gun didn't go off. "Dang it, knew i should've checked this thing before I went out." she said as she started to look down the barrel.

"DON'T DO THAT!" Shouted the Courier as he knocked the rifle out of her hands right when it went off. "Are you stupid or something!? You should never look down the barrel of a gun. That's guns 101!" The courier then picked up the rifle, ejecting the magazine and checking to make sure there wasn't anymore bullets in the chamber.

"Um...th-thanks." said the woman gratefully but at the same time scared. She then shook her head and snapped back into reality. "Wait a second, why help me? You could've just let the gun go off in my face, take what was on me than go?"

"Well first off, you're the only person around here that I've seen for the past few days. Secondly, I have no idea how to ride or command this thing to go where I want it to go so I'll need you for that. Third, I would prefer it if you kept your face on your head rather than splatter it on my duster. Much prettier that way."

The woman blushed a little at the last statement. "So...you're not a bandit?"

The Courier sighed and handed her back the rifle. "Do I LOOK like a bandit? Do I ACT like a bandit?

"No."

"Then I'm not a bandit. Now if you wouldn't mind Miss...what's your name?"

"Isabelle. Yours?"

"I just go by the Courier. Now if you wouldn't mind Miss Isabelle would you be so kind as to direct your Dune-Runner to the nearest town? I'm running low on whiskey." Said the Courier as he got upon the Dune-Runner.

"Fine...but don't get any ideas, or i'll dump you off in the middle of nowhere." Stated Isabelle as she got back on Dune-Runner and set it off in the direction of the nearest town.

-Author's note: I feel bad for the last chapter being so short, so here's another one, after the next Wanderer chap, I will start uploading two at a time.-


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Nostalgia ain't what it used to be

The Wanderer awoke suddenly in a daze, his vision blurry, and a dull whine invaded his hearing. Above that dull whine were the sounds of labored breathing and the tearing of flesh. The Wanderer felt something other than the interior of power armor, so he knew that his had been taken from him. He didn't have any weapons on him at the moment. His Pip-Boy was declaring the word "CONCUSSION!" every other second.

The Wanderer sat up to try and get his bearings, his vision began clearing up, but that was the only good thing at the moment. His legs weren't tied, but his arms were tied behind his back. After his vision cleared up entirely, he got a good look of his surroundings.

He was still outside, but it was now high noon. He was lying next to a dilapidated building, but as far as he could tell there were no other buildings anywhere close by. There were four collared troggs within 10 yards of him, one of them, a brute, was giving him a death stare. The other three were busy eating the corpses of a few raiders.

The Wanderer began feeling the ground behind him, hoping to God there was a sharp rock or a nail.

There was not.

This would take some more effort.

The Wanderer began to put his eight Agility to the test, he bent his legs to where his knees were underneath his head, keeping his eyes on the brute that was watching him. The Wanderer then pulled his arms to where he was sitting on his hands, the brute twitched and looked the Wanderer up and down, but then went back to staring at the Wanderer normally.

Now came the hard part, the Wanderer pulled his tied hands all the way over his legs. The plan succeeded and he stretched his legs back out, his hands now laying in front of him, resting on his legs.

The problem now was getting a weapon, the Wanderer immediately noticed a nailboard, right in between him and the brute, the Wanderer eyed it for a few seconds.

The brute did too.

The Wanderer went for it.

The brute leapt like a frog.

The Wanderer's hand touched the handle.

The brute's paw touched the nails.

The Wanderer pulled with all his might, ripping off the brute's paw with a thunderous tearing.

The brute reeled in pain, blood spurting forth from the ragged stump of its arm. The smaller troggs leapt for the Wanderer, one on his left, another coming from his right, and one headed towards the middle path.

He hit the one coming from his right in the side with a quick swing, stunning it. He then performed a wide swing at the one coming from his front, causing its head to pop into a gooey mess. A quick overhead swing killed the left one. The one that was on the right was busy reeling from the blow to its side.  
Like an executioner's axe, the nailboard swung down almost soundlessly and ended the small trogg's pain.

The Wanderer then turned to the brute, which was now on its hind legs, standing a good seven-foot tall.

It jumped for the Wanderer, and the Wanderer responded by side stepping, and then swinging the nail board with all his might, knocking the brute's skull-cap off, sending it flying into the dilapidated building.

"Home run..." the Wanderer said.

The Wanderer then began to wonder where his equipment was, and then remembered that the Brotherhood had updated the Pip-Boy's marker function, and gave it a tracking function so if he ever lost it he could find it pretty easily. He took a look at his pip-boy and saw where the marker was...the steel yard.

The Pitt, he was back in the Pitt.

The Wanderer looked up at the sky, it was still daytime, although the sun was blocked out by smog

"Gotta get a plan first, gotta get a plan. There might be a weapon or something in that building." Said the wanderer as he went into the building. He started rummaging around a few desks in the front, not much was left. A couple of bottle caps, clipboards, a pencil. "Dang it, I never find anything good at the start of these things."

The Wanderer climbed up a pile of rubble and started searching more offices, and eventually freed his hands by cutting their bindings on a broken piece of glass on a door window. He found more bottlecaps but still nothing useful. Above him he heard what sounded like gunshots going off, and snarling from a trogg as well. He had found himself a gun.

The Wanderer went back to the staircase, but found that it had collapsed from the second to the third floor. Naturally. The fighting was still going as the Wanderer could still hear gunshots, cursing, and trogg-speak.

He found a piece of fallen wood to use as a ramp up to the third floor. The Wanderer raced to where the sound of the fighting originated from and flung open the door to find a trogg tearing at a poor raider. Chunks of flesh flew away with each swing at the raider, who was screaming in pain. The Wanderer ran up to the trogg and swung at it as hard as he could with his nailboard, knocking it off of the raider and onto the ground. Before the beast could get back up, the Wanderer smashed its head in.

The raider moaned and tried to reach for his pistol to shoot the wanderer, but the pain stopped him from moving too far. The wanderer walked back over and picked up the raider's pistol, a 10mm.

"H-hey! Give that back!" Screamed the raider, some of his right lung was showing. "Gi-give m-me all your meds!" The Wanderer just shook his head in pity.

"You guys are all the same, you know that?" Said the Wanderer as he checked and loaded the pistol's magazine. His voice softened. "I don't have any meds, but I won't leave you like that." the Wanderer said as he took aim at the raider's head. "Mind tellin' me why you came here?"

"I had heard the workers had survived..." the raider said, accepting his fate, "was gonna retire from raiding..." he laughed.

"Sorry dude, all that's left here is blood."

"I guess that's all people like you and me ever find in our lives is blood." the raider said, still laughing.

The Wanderer was puzzled, "What?"

"I know who you are, Wanderer, I remember you from that raid you made on Evergreen Mills..." he wheezed, "and people thank you for all your killings."

The Wanderer gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger, the raider's head dropped to the side.

The Wanderer looted the raider for his clothes, about 4 magazines worth of bullets, enough to last him until he found his equipment. He knew though he was in no shape to take on an army of troggs so he'd need to play it stealthy, and as much as he hated to...wait until nightfall to go to the Pitt.

* * *

Author's note: regular updating? what's that? Sorry, but between marching band, work, and huge amounts of calculus and history homework, I can barely write at all. I plan to have time to write, but then life throws a curveball, then a fast ball and slider, and then a ball with a string attached to it. Sorry if I whine about not having time to work on this.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Deja Vu, and other things of the past.**

The Courier, after an hour of riding on the dune-runner, was missing the heavy feeling of his Enclave suit on his legs, which after being pelted with dirt and rocks, felt like jelly.

The town that Isabelle took the Courier to was a small frontier-style town, with a hotel that had a sign labelled "Barracks" tacked over the original hotel sign. Directly next to the hotel was a large fenced area with a gate labeled "Feeding Pen." Down the dusty road was a bar, a post office, and nearby were houses each with their own little farms in the back that had things such as banana yucca. Behind the post office was what looked like a corral, full of dune-runners, around 15 of them, all with saddles on them and currently being tended to by what appeared to be an older gentleman who dumped buckets of food into troughs.

"What do these things eat anyways?" asked the Courier.

"Well, dirt, mixed with water and plants," Isabelle said, "they also seem to like the taste of mashed up cazadores." Said Isabelle as she and the Courier got off the dune-runner as it went into the feeding area.

The Courier thought about cazadores for a moment and shivered. "Oh, hate those dang things. Their poison makes you feel like your insides are on fire."

"How would you know, you ever been stung? Most who get stung say its like being shocked on the inside."

"Being shocked feels like burning, which also feels like melting," the Courier said, pulling up the sleeve of the shirt he wore under his duster, revealing a ragged-edged circular scar on his forearm.

Isabelle just stared at it for a few seconds before snapping back into reality. "How did you get that?"

"Well." The Courier began as he sat down on a bench near the feeding area overlooking the dune-runners. "It was, well, almost a year ago, I think. I had heard some rumors about a nice piece of equipment in this big cazador nest back in New Vegas. So, I decided to check it out. Went in armed with a revolver, trench knife, an LMG and a flamethrower. Place was swarming with them, adults and babies, big and small ones. Babies are worse than the adults, they're smaller and less predictable, and inject more poison than they need to." The Courier sighed and took a deep breath, trying to remember all the details he could from that day.

"Anyway, I was about halfway through the nest when my flamethrower ran out fuel. I had killed about oh...15 cazadores on the way down. I started using my revolver because of the cramped quarters. Played it stealthy, kept crouched and shot a couple of them. The noise from the shots alerted the rest of the swarm deeper down though, so I back up into a bottleneck in the tunnels. Took a lot of them out that way, the bodies just piled up. I then made my way to this big open chamber, and I saw what i was looking for. An advanced power helmet that one of my friends called a Remnant helmet. I started walking towards it. I then heard something on the ceiling and looked up. And I saw probably the fifth most terrifying thing in New Vegas, the Legendary Cazador, or so my Pip-Boy called it, the queen of the nest I suppose. And she saw me. She jumped down from the ceiling and started flying, I shot a few more rounds from my assault rifle and crippled one of her wings, she crashed onto the cave floor and i jumped on her head, she tried to throw me off, but I stabbed my trench knife into her head, made it easier to stay on. Then I just unloaded my revolver into her head, that finished her."

Isabelle just stared at the Courier in amazement, but then shook her head. "Wait, that's really fascinating and all, but...that still doesn't explain how you got that scar."

The Courier just smirked at this statement. "Well I went over and picked up the helmet, turned around and walked towards the exit. I then heard a small buzzing towards my right. I turned that way, and there was a baby cazador, flying as fast as it could towards me. I had already holstered my weapons and this thing was fast. Faster than a deathclaw on psycho. I picked up a rock and went to smash its head in. I hit it, but the dang thing flipped and stung me right on my arm. I staggered back out into the sun in the worst pain you could imagine, almost passed out from the short walk to the exit a few times. I then took some buffout, patched myself up, drank my whole bottle of whiskey, and drunkenly stumbled back to the Strip, numb as hell.

Isabelle tried her best not to laugh, but couldn't hold back a snicker. "So, you got stung because you thought you were safe?"

"Yeah, but that's still pretty lucky considering that it could've stung my head, or my stomach, or my windpipe, or my heart," the Courier said, taking off his cowboy hat and scratching his head, "That was back when my Luck was one of the things I was the most thankful for."

Isabelle looked at the scar more intently.

The Courier did as well. He realized for the fifth or sixth time that it had gotten bigger since that day, not healing, it seemed to spread, as though it was a permanent reminder, of what, he couldn't really tell.

"You don't like how lucky you are?" Isabelle asked.

The Courier put his hat back on and sighed, "I used to, gave me a helluva lot of caps back when I was starting out in Vegas, around, shit, I don't know, 30,000 in one week."

Isabelle gasped, and started to say something, but was cut off by the Courier, still in reminiscence.

"Bought a whole bunch of these cybernetic implants, and used a trick I'd learned to get a gun healed up for free and sell it for more than I bought it to get even more, I call it Luck that I didn't get caught. Bought a lot of armor and weapons, enough to keep me set for practically anything come my way."

"What caused you to not like your Luck then?" Isabelle said, annoyed, "It seems like that would make anyone happy."

The Courier laughed, "How old are you? 20? By now you should realise material possessions ain't enough to make people happy for very long. Anyways, I ended up not liking my Luck a little after that. I'd shoot at a raider and cause more damage to him somehow every once in a while, I think that just happens to everybody, but to me, it happened at just the right time, on the enemy that was just powerful enough to rip my head off without batting an eye..." he spoke these last few words with a little frustration, "it made everything too damn easy."

"But a lot of people would love to have that kind of luck with them." said Isabelle.

"I did love my Luck, it's part of the reason I got to where I am today. But sometimes I wonder...is it only my Luck that's keeping me alive?"

Isabelle got back up and patted the Courier's shoulder. "Well, come on, that's enough story telling, let's get you acquainted to the dune-runners."

The Courier got up and followed Isabelle into one of the pens. Isabelle took a power sledge that was near the corner of the pen and hit the ground a few times. Small dune-runners began to pop out of the ground, each about the size of a cyberdog. "You see," stated Isabelle, "they respond to vibrations in the ground. These small ones and the tamed dune-runners will usually only respond to a powerful strike from a sledgehammer or something else from the ground. Once saddled up though, you can control them with your feet just by kicking them. The harder the kick, the harder the turn. Kicking them with both feet at the same time will make them speed up. To slow them down, you just have to hit them with the palm of your hand. Hard hit means hard stop, light hit means slow stop."

"Seems pretty simplistic." Said the Courier as he looked at the small dune-runners as they began tunneling back into the dirt. "When can you start training me? I'd like to use one for transportation and hopefully cut the time on my journey down."

"It'll cost you 2,000 caps."

"I'm guessin' you've done this before."

"We've only sold a dune-runner once."

"Why only once?"

"The dune-runners don't seem to like people that ain't from here, they either spit acid on anyone else that comes close to 'em or they try to throw 'em off."

"What about the one I rode on for an hour?"

"Marco only attacks people I want him to."

"I'll start my training tomorrow," The Courier brought out 2,000 caps and handed them to Isabelle.

Isabelle nodded and pointed down the road. "There's a tavern not too far down, they got some rooms and booze to spare. My aunt runs it. Just try not to cause any trouble."

"Thanks, I'll see you in the morning then." and the Courier walked down the road towards the tavern.

As the Courier walked toward the tavern, he heard a slight rumbling behind him, he turned to see some shifting dirt. It approached him slowly, and then stopped a few feet from him.

The Courier then realised that there was nothing to prevent the dune-runners from just leaving the town, and wondered if the people here were the first to ever treat them kindly.

The Courier stared at the end of the trail of shifted dirt, and then stomped his feet on the ground. Out of the dirt pile came a dune-runner, about the size of Isabelle's.

The Courier, calmly as possible, moved toward the dune-runner, which pulled back slightly, making a hissing sound, possibly acid ready to be launched.

The Courier didn't stop, he began kneeling down, reaching out to touch the front of the dune-runner.

He did, the dune-runner's hissing let off.

"That's right, I ain't gonna hurt ya," the Courier said, patting its head.

The dune-runner sunk into the ground, but didn't move away from the Courier. The Courier moved a few steps, the dune-runner followed. This may be easier than he thought it was going to be.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Trials and Tribulations**

Night finally engulfed the Pit. With the steel plants still working though, the city gave off an eerie glow, like something out a book the Wanderer once read in his travels. He also thought of how the uncomfortableness he felt matched that of the Dunwich building.

The Wanderer stood on top of the dilapidated building he was just in, assessing the best route to retrieve his power armor.

"Alright, it's a pretty fair distance away. But...I could save myself some time by just cutting through this old steel factory, assuming that the walkways are still intact." The Wanderer was starting to get back into his old habit of thinking out loud. He shook his head.

"If I get back into that habit again it could get me killed. Those troggs have better hearing than one would think." he thought.

The Wanderer started out towards the power armor signal, crossing and navigating through the fields of steel pipes and beams, being careful not to make too much noise and attract the troggs, finally coming to a steel mill and opening a door from a collapsed office on the second floor.

"Well, that wasn't too hard. Being light on my feet saves me again."

As he opened the door from the office into the main production part of the steel mill, he took a second to get his surroundings, only to see darkness spotted by the highlight of red emergency lights.

"Power's out, but the emergency lights are still working." The Wanderer focused and saw the command area for the now silent machines.

"Maybe if I can get over there, I can hook power back up to the lights and find a way out of here."

The Wanderer felt his way along the walkway, nearly falling twice from where some sections had collapsed and made his way to the controls. Looking at the wiring, he deduced that the wires had been cut, probably by some slave who wanted to rebel against the Pitt Slavers. The Wanderer then checked to see if the wires still had any electricity flowing into them, they still did. "Ok then, all I have to do is connect them together and I should be able to see what the heck it is I'm doing."

The Wanderer felt his way around the control box and found an old auto axe. Using the light from his Pip-Boy to help him see, he gutted some of the wiring from the auto axe and jury-rigged the wires back together, shocking himself as well. "Ouch! Just my luck I guess. But, could be worse."

The lights started to flip back on one row at a time in the factory, revealing now long dead machines, and the inhabitants of the factory.

"Crap...this is just great." Whispered the Wanderer, looking at about 15 troggs sleeping below him on the machinery. A door flung open at the bottom and seven figures, dressed in stripped down enclave power armor entered the building, two armed with flamers, three with auto axes, and two armed with what looked like mesmetrons.

The troggs woke up from the sound of the door flinging open and rushed at the slavers, snarling at them. The slavers responded by lighting them on fire and sawing a few of them down, the slavers with the mesmetron hanging back until only four were left. They then shot their mesmetrons at the remaining troggs, causing two heads to explode, and confusing the remaining two.

They then attached collars that looked like the ones on the troggs that attacked the Wanderer before.

"So...they're the ones controlling them with those collars. Are they trying to make an army or something? Eh, no time for questions, gotta move. Armor is really close now." said the Wanderer as he looked down at his Pip-Boy. He then saw that the blip that marked his armor was moving slowly on a path through a set of buildings.

"Correction...it's moving, albeit very slowly and towards me. Apparently somebody doesn't know how to operate the hydraulics. Finally! Something going my way for once, literally!" The Wanderer raced down the catwalk, jumping down the stairs and out the door, running past the now crispy trogg corpses. He came to the building where the blip was and readied his 10mm pistol. The door swung open, light shining down from a hole in the ceiling onto a broken catwalk. The Wanderer saw the person in his armor trying to make their way up, but couldn't very fast from not knowing how to operate the armor, in addition to all the Wanderer's weapons he was carrying.

"HEY!" Yelled out the Wanderer, "You! Stop right there! Take off the armor and drop the weapons!"

The figure just turned around and tried to run, but was barely able to get up to a brisk walk in the armor. The figure, realizing it couldn't get away, drew the Wanderer's laser rifle and pointed it at him, trying its hardest to keep the sight on him. "Are you a slaver? DON'T LIE TO ME!" It screamed, its voice echoing in the helmet.

"No...why? Are you?" The Wanderer asked.

"No, I-I'm actually a slave. I found a trogg bringing these armor and weapons in and ambushed it. I figured I could take it, find a safe place, and figure out how to use it. Then I could fight my way out of here.

"We'll, I'm sorry but that armor is tuned to my DNA, and will only work for me when synced to my pip boy. Now, just get it off and I'll try to hel-"

Before the wanderer could finish his sentence though, the door below them busted open and the slavers from before came in, spotting them. "There it is! Get that armor" they said as they began opening fire. The Wanderer and his newfound companion took cover behind some rubble on the catwalk.

"Quick! Give me a weapon!" Ordered the Wanderer. His companion fumbled about and threw the wanderer his plasma rifle. "That'll work, now just stay down and I'll handle this, and try to get that armor off quick!" The Wanderer's companion started fumbling with the locks, the unpowered gloves made it hard to fiddle with them though.

Streams of plasma and flame streaked through the air, as the battle raged, scorching the twisted metal and bricks around them. The wanderer landed a direct hit on one of the flamer slavers, liquefying its mask and showing the monstrosity that was inside. A human, in the process of becoming a trogg. "NO NO NO!" screamed the slaver.

"Quiet down! We'll get you another mask after we deal with these two!"

Unfortunately, the slaver wouldn't, as the Wanderer's next shot landed on his exposed skin, liquefying that half of his face.

"Flank him you idiots!" Ordered the remaining flamer slaver to the three auto axe and two mesmetron slavers as they ran around and started to climb the catwalk.

The Wanderer motioned to his companion who now had taken off the gloves and was working on the legs. "Give me a grenade now!" His companion found one and threw it to the wanderer, who pulled the pin and rolled it down the catwalk.

"Grena-!" called out a slaver, who was cut off as the grenade exploded in a green cloud of plasma, killing him and his partners.

"Crap." Whispered the last slaver as he watched his partners turn into green goo. He lowered his flamer for a second and pressed something on the side of his helmet. The Wanderer landed a critical hit on the head of the slaver, sending it flying off of his body, which slumped to the ground in a heap.

"Critical hit!" ringed out the Wanderer's Pip-Boy. "I'm getting really lucky today, all things considered", thought the Wanderer as he turned back around towards his companion and stood out of cover. His companion had taken off the legs and started undoing the helmet.

"Thanks for saving my ass.", said his companion as he took off the helmet, revealing a young man in his early twenties. "I'm guessing they had scouts out looking for this armor of yours."

"Yeah, luckily the helmet has a tracker in it. You take any damage?"

"No. Not even a scratch, yourself?"

"Na, good thing too."

"Why's that?"

"Well, now that I'm so close to it, if I took damage, it would've activated and killed you thinking you were the one shooting at me."

The man's face turned pale for a second and he shook his head. "Uh...yeah...good thing I didn't shoot you then, huh?"

"Yeah, now get that chestplate off, we need to m-" a shot rang out from below, grazing the Wanderer's shoulder, tearing the skin and a thin mist of blood shot out. A slaver scout had gotten the distress call from the now dead slaver flamer and came. He kept unloading rounds at them.

The Wanderer winced from the pain and immediately got down, his Pip-Boy started flashing and the helmet's eyes lit up. "Initiating armor purge protocol!" blared the helmet.

"No no no no no!" Yelled the Wanderer as he quickly picked up his gauss rifle and shot at the slaver scout, killing him in a single bloody shot to the skull and immediately turning back around.

The slave was on the ground scrambling to get the armor off. "TURN IT OFF, TURN IT OFF!"

"I can't! It's an automatic response!" Yelled the Wanderer as he hurried to get the locks undone. As part of a counter-measure some medical officer at the Brotherhood had put in, it wasn't clear who, the armor plunged a needle into the slave's chest towards his heart. The poor man screamed in pain and started flailing, making it harder to get the chestplate off, and knocking the Wanderer's hands away a couple of times. "HOLD THE HELL STILL!"

But it was a vain attempt, the armor had pierced down to the heart and had injected him with an overdose of adrenaline, stopping his heart and killing him almost instantly. The armor quickly analyzed the blood and found it to be a match. "Blood type match found, harvesting commenced."

The Wanderer just sat back against the rails of the catwalk in shock, gripping his guass rifle and listening to the whirring of the filtration system in the armor, filtering out the excess adrenaline from the blood and moving them both into storage compartments in the chestplate to be used later, for emergency transfusions. "I'll...wait till it's done...then get out of here. Better...better check my weapons. Guy might've damaged them."

The Wanderer started going over his weapons, checking and re-checking the mirrors and focusers, until he realized something.

"I didn't even get the guy's name."

* * *

Author's note: I'm sorry, a month is way to long between updates, so I gave you guys a twofer. I'm changing the rating of this fic to M to play it safe with the violence. On the subject of twofers, that's how I plan to update from now on.

Also, the armor mod, I always thought about what ways you could possibly upgrade a medical suit, and for some reason, blood transfusions came into my head.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: What Happens in Vegas; Issue #1

We part away now from the journey of the Courier and return to his makeshift kingdom of the Mojave. It is night, a group of rag-tag raiders are sitting near a campfire, far from New Vegas, but near enough to see the light and outline of the buildings against the star-studded sky. One was an escaped Powder Ganger, another, a former member of Caesar's legion, and next to them were two ex-Fiends, doing their best to outrun death itself.

They huddled around the campfire, cold and tired, wishing they could sleep but never could. Always watching for the signs of the Red Eyed Demon...the Legionnaire first spoke up, eager to break the silence. "Used to be, I'd kill each and every one of you on sight for the glory of Caesar!"

"Yeah," said the Powder Ganger, "and we would've kicked your asses too and sent you running like the Courier did back at the Battle of Hoover Dam. Heck, I remember when I actually feared you guys, 'specially after what you all did at Nipton. Had some good friends there, friends you put on the crosses and left to slowly rot to death," the Powder Ganger sighed, "Those were the days, huh? Before the Courier came to power and sent his guys on us."

The Fiends finally chimed in too, "Oh yeah, we remember. We were living the life in Vault 3. We had it so nice, drugs, liquor, sex. You named it, we had it! Even better was that the NCR were actually too afraid of us to do anything to stop it. Raided so many shipments of their's, it wasn't even funny. Now we're lucky to find even a drop of psycho..."

The Powder Ganger looked at the two Fiends and asked, "What happened to you all anyway? You were in a Vault, should have been pretty easy to defend yourselves from an attack." The two Fiends just looked at each other and hung their heads, almost like they didn't want to remember what happened to them that day.

"It was around ten o'clock in the morning, we were expecting a shipment to arrive from one of our suppliers, drugs got a little harder to find after the Khans left the Mojave but we were able to make a deal with a tribe from up north. Least the remnants of one anyways. I was working the cameras that morning. The gate crew opened the gate, there were the drugs, nothing seemed too wrong at first. Started inspecting the drugs and roll the gear back into place. Then, something just exploded inside the shipment, it was so loud I could hear it at the other end of the Vault in the security room. The alarm started to sound all throughout the Vault. I grabbed my gun and went to try and join the attack and that's when I saw...saw..."

"Com'on, what'd you see, guarantee it wasn't as bad as what happened to my guys," egged the Powder Ganger.

"The Brotherhood soldiers...they were all armed with flamers...started exterminating everyone. Whole rooms, hallways, everything was burning! Their skin melted right off their bones, we tried to fight back, shot a couple of them, but there were too many! They were everywhere, scorching everything, marching down the halls making sure they got every last person they could find."

"Then how'd you two survive?" Asked the Legionnaire.

"We shoved ourselves into lockers. Guns wouldn't fit so we threw them out, hoping they wouldn't find us. A couple of the soldiers went by...and then I saw him...that man...that 'king' as they call him."

"You...saw...the Courier himself?!" Yelled the Legionnaire astonished

"They say he hasn't come outta New Vegas except to go deathclaw hunting! You're making this stuff up! No way you saw him, or you'd be dead as a fuckin' doornail!" said the Powder Ganger.

"I saw him, he saw him too!" Said the Fiend, pointing to his friend. "The Ace of Spades, with the 21 emblazoned on the back, eyes that looked like they'd stared down the Devil himself. He was there, watching as everyone burned," the fiends looked down defeatedly and kept talking. "I saw him...another fiend came running down the hallway, burning, screaming, and ran into him, begging for mercy...until he saw what he ran into. The Courier just pulled out his magnum, and shot him in the legs...crippled...left to burn...left to suffer. And then he turned and left, like nothing was happening. Like this was just another day on the job for him. We stayed in those lockers for a day. Every noise, every scream echoed inside my brain, as I watched their faces melt...it was...no words can describe it."

The Ganger and the Legionnaire just looked at each other, and the poor shivering figures of the fiends as they struggled to bring themselves out of their nightmare. The Legionnaire turned to the Powder Ganger and asked the same question. "What happened to your people?" The Powder Ganger just looked down dejectedly.

"I'm not sure whether to say what happened to us was merciful, or worse than those two. Like them, it was just a pretty normal day. Me and a couple of my fellow Powder Gangers were out patrolling around the prison on the other side of the hills. Had killed a couple of merchants, got a couple hundred bottle caps, some dynamite, ammo, guns, food and best of all, liquor. We figured we'd go ahead and celebrate by drinking it all and relaxing. Like I said...was just a normal day for us. It was mid afternoon and we started back over the hills to the Prison Camp. We got to the top, when I saw something off in the distance. Looked like three men. They just stood there, looking out at the prison. One of them then pulled out some type of gun, looked like a toy, like one of those things you see on the Old World posters. I looked back towards the prison and three lights shined down on it from above. We just sat there and watched, looking up at the sky as they converged towards the center of the prison..."

"What happened?" Asked the Legionnaire as the ganger fell silent.

"Then...there was a flash, like lightning, and a roar like thunder. We all got flung backwards against the hill, ears ringing, vision blurred...took awhile for us to even stand up. When we did though, we were horrified...the prison...it was gone...like somebody had just, I don't know, like somebody had just erased it off the map! There wasn't much left except a couple of guard towers that fell over after losing support. It was like it was never there, no prison, no powder gangers...nothing. It was all just, gone."

"What'd you do then?"

"What do you think I did, I ran! I ran as fast as I could, away, the others did too, haven't seen or heard from them since. While I was running though, all I could think about was just that image, that man, pulling the trigger, looking out over the prison. And that's why I'm here."

"Do you think that was the Courier that pulled the trigger?"

"Had to have been, no way he'd be letting somebody else run around with that kind of weapon." The ganger sighed. "Alright mister sunshine, what happened to you?"

The Legionnaire looked up at the sky and started to recollect the events. "Well, I started all this talk, might as well finish it. After the battle of Hoover Dam, with the death of both Caesar and Legate Lanius, we were essentially left to rot and die here in the Mojave. Like an infected limb, the rest of the Legion just cut us off so they wouldn't get infected with weakness, any Legionnaires in the Mojave were strung up on a cross as a warning to those thinking of coming back. We were all on our own. Some fled towards to Divide, others went North towards Zion in hopes of joining up with the tribes from out there. Others buried their armor and became mercs for hire...that didn't matter to him though. The Courier, he wanted us all to pay for our actions. He first tracked down the ones who became mercs. Lured them all to the Strip with promises of food, beds, and money. They were all shot on sight by the securitrons before they even got to the gate. Those that ran before they got in range, were ambushed by the King's gang.

The ganger just laughed at this. "You big tough Legionnaires got beat up by a bunch of low-class thugs?"

The Legionnaire just glared at the ganger. "The Courier treats his allies well, he gave them weapons and supplies, trained them even so they could go toe to toe with any NCR soldier. They're his security now for the outer areas of the Strip, making sure it's safe for any and all patrons wishing to throw their caps away at a chance of a better life."

"So what'd he do with the bodies, and the others, the ones that head North and the ones that headed east towards the Divide?"

"Best guess is he burned the bodies, wouldn't want to dirty up his Strip too much after all the work he put into taking it over. The ones who headed North, they were greeted by the Burned Man from what I heard."

"Oh, I'm sure he was kind to them then. I mean, probably understood your all's predicament."

"They say the Burned Man and his tribe descended upon my fellow legionnaires like cazadores to a wounded bighorn...the Courier had sent word to the Burned Man to keep on the lookout for us wanting to take shelter from his rule. He did more than that. I met one "survivor", if you could call him that, of the massacre while hiding out in one of the buildings to the north of the Strip. One of his eyes were gone, fingernails and toenails ripped off and his teeth were gone as well. He told me of what happened, of the screaming from my fellow legionnaires as they begged for mercy, asking for protection and sanctuary from the Courier, hoping to appeal to the Burned Man's sense of comradery. All of which were gone now. The survivor died a few hours after me having found him, a messenger for those who dared to flee North.

"Any word of what happened to the ones that headed to the Divide then? Someone must've gotten out!"

The legionnaire sighed and hung his head like the storytellers before him. "They made it to the Divide, thinking they had found Salvation. They were greeted by one who wore the flag of the Old World on his back. He said nothing though, just looking out over the ruins of the Divide, like a silent guardian. They went down into the ruins to scavenge for supplies. They never came back, or so they say. Part of me wants to think they made it out and away from the Courier's influence, but...a more logical conclusion would be they simply became overwhelmed by what was there."

Silence fell over the group, who all were now remembering all the friends they had lost, the dead that were never honored, the loved ones who screamed in pain. They all mourned and remembered who the Courier was, not a god, not a legend. He was something even greater, he was a reality, something no one could deny or say was a lie.

The group heard footsteps coming up from behind them and readied their weapons, hoping that maybe it was an unfortunate merchant who happened across them, as this would mean they would have some sustenance for the next few days. They were not that lucky however. As the figure moved closer towards the fire, they could make out his features, worn black boots that looked like they'd walked many miles, a duster similar to the Courier's, but seemed to be tattered by both bullet and blade, a staff atop which sat a golden eagle, and a mask that covered his mouth and nose.

The group just stood there, unmoved but not unfazed. For they did not move out of fear, they didn't know why they feared this man but they did, and they stood silent as he began to speak.

"The Divide has many secrets hidden inside of it. Secrets...waiting for a chance to escape, to spread like a plague over the land and devour it all in their gluttony. That, was what your friends met at the Divide, legionnaire. I saw them all die, dragged down below the rubble, below the earth to be devoured. And now, those secrets have escaped their confinement, and may in their hunger their spread towards this land, to devour a gluttony of a different kind."

The group just kept staring and wondering what the stranger meant by his words. The legionnaire was the first to speak up and ask the question that was on all of their minds. "Who are you?"

"My name does not matter, I have come to tell all who live here, war is coming."

The men simply stared at Ulysses. "What in the heck are you talking about?!", asked the powder ganger. "What war? Nobody has the power right now to match the Courier, not the Legion, not the fiends, Hell, not even the NCR would think twice about crossing his path!"

Ulysses walked past them all without so much as a glance back at them. "It doesn't concern you four. You'll be dead soon enough."

"I think we've had enough of your talking." said the legionnaire as he ran towards Ulysses with sword drawn, hands still shaking for some odd reason. A shot rang out in the distance, missing Ulysses's head by mere inches and nailing the legionnaire in the neck, tearing his head off and causing his body to collapse to the ground.

"Shit, it's gotta be Boone!" Yelled the powder ganger as he tried to run off, a bullet went through his left leg, tearing it off at the knee and leaving him to bleed out.

"Not like this, dammit. Not like this," he said as he tried to choke off the pain.

The fiends looked at their fallen comrades and knelt, they knew they weren't coming out of this alive, and they were tired of running. One shot rang out, and two bodies fell.

Ulysses didn't turn back to look at the fallen and walked to the hills until he met Boone.

"You...I think I've heard of you," said Boone. "Yeah, the Courier told us to always be on the lookout for a guy in a duster like his. You must be Ulysses."

"Hmph, he told you about me, did he? What else did he say, anything about the Divide, or what transpired there?"

"Well...no actually. It's strange, the Courier usually loves to talk about those sort of adventures, but when asked about the Divide he just says 'I went and saw the power a single man could have on history...and it terrified me.' Don't know what that means, but if it scared the Courier then it must've been bad."

Ulysses just nodded at Boone. "Even a man like him has his secrets. Now tell me, where is the Courier?"

"He left a couple weeks ago. Said he was going to investigate a signal somewhere to the far east. Some place called the Gateway. Probably won't be back for at least a couple of months."

Ulysses looked out over the hills and towards the bright shining Strip. "Did he leave anybody in charge of the Mojave while he was gone?"

"Well, just us, his companions. Me and Cass handle security out here in the Mojave, try to find any raiders and remnants of the legion we can and put them down before they cause any trouble. Cass and Arcade handle the science and medicine back in the Strip at the Old Mormon fort."

"So you're his right hand than?"

"Guess you could say I'm something like that, yeah. He just tells me who he needs dead and I kill them. Doesn't bother me, most of these guys deserve it anyway."

"I stand corrected, you're his gun."

"Look, let's stop talking philosophy here. Why are you in the Mojave and not out looking over the Divide? Shouldn't you be making sure nothing gets outta there and comes here?"

"Something has gotten out of the Divide, and is heading here now. An army of monstrosities known as tunnelers."

"Well then...sounds like we got a problem. I'll take you back to the 38 and tell Veronica to get everyone on the radio and meet us there." Boone tapped the side of his helmet and tuned its radio to Veronica's signal. "Hey Veronica, come in. Veronica!" There was no answer.

"Damn it Veronica pick up your radio!" Boone could hear the sound of metal clanking against the wood floor of the fort.

"Dang it Boone! What is it, it's 5:00 in the morning and I had a long day negotiating with the NCR! I need my beauty sleep!"

"Can it, no time to hear about it. Get everyone on the radio and tell them to meet at the Lucky 38 at o' nine hundred hours."

"Everyone?! They're all asleep right now!"

"I said do it now before I come back there and take all those nice dresses you got, and give 'em to the fire geckos."

"Ugggh, fine, but you're gonna be the one that buys them all breakfast."

"See you soon then." said Boone as he signed off.

Ulysses and Boone walked to the Lucky 38 in silence until the got to the Strip when Ulysses finally asked, "What made you want to work for the Courier?"

Boone started talking, but didn't look back at Ulysses. "I owe that man a debt, one I might not ever be able to repay. He helped me bury some ghosts...let's just leave it at that."

They came to the doors of the Lucky 38 and took the elevator up to the bar level, where the other companions waited for them, gathered around a few bunched up tables and drinking coffee.

"Veronica," said Cassidy spitting out her coffee. "What is this coffee made from, the mud off the bottom of some prospector's shoe?"

"Hey! I did the best I could, so sue me," yelled Veronica.

"Señoritas, please, there is no need to fight, I'm sure Veronica had a good excuse for waking us all up in the early hours of the morning," said Raul.

"Don't ask me, ask Boone. Speaking of which."

"Took you guys long enough to notice. Now, let's get down to business, I assume you all know who this is, right?" said Boone.

"Um, how could they? You didn't give me any information to tell them." said Veronica.

"My mistake, figured it'd be obvious at first sight," sighed Boone, taking off his helmet. "This, is Ulysses. Also known as the guy that actually scared the Courier."

The elevator doors dinged opened at the end of Boone's sentence with Arcade stepping out, yawning. "Ahhh, sorry everyone, did I miss anything?"

Boone rubbed in between his eyes in disgust. "This type of behavior would never had been tolerated if we were in the NCR."

"Ulysses?", said Veronica. "Sorry, we don't know much about you. Did the Courier meet you in the Divide or something?"

"You could say something like that. But enough with the pleasantries, I have an urgent warning for yo-"

"Hey who made this coffee?!" Said Arcade cutting off Ulysses. "It tastes dreadful!"

"IT'S NOT THAT BAD!" screamed Veronica, "Now would you please let the man talk!"

"Thank you, Scribe. As I was saying, there is a threat coming from the Divide. I've done my best to contain it over the past few months, but now I'm afraid that I alone cannot"

"What are they? Can't be quite as bad as a Deathclaw." said Cassidy.

"A single one, no, but that is not their strength. They are called tunnelers, they are reptilian in nature, with eyes that glow like the Moon. They hunt in packs, strike one down, two more shall come to take its place. Bright light will cause them immense pain, so they only hunt at night when the Sun is down."

"Do you know how many are coming?" asked Boone

"I can not say for sure, at least a small armies worth. Since they travel underground in the day it's hard to scout their numbers."

"Well, at least the Strip is safe because of its lights. We'll need to warn the other settlements, like Goodsprings. We'll try to send them some lights too." said Veronica.

"If we could capture one and bring it in for some experimentation, that might also help. Figure out how they communicate with each other," chimed Arcade.

"Well c'mon people, clock's ticking so let's get preparing," said Boone, "Raul, make sure that the barrier around the Strip is holding up well. Veronica, go to the power plant and see how it's doing. The more power we get from it the better. Might check the dam too. Cassidy, start sending patrols around and keep a lookout on the hills towards the Divide. Arcade, try to develop some way to detect these things underground, everyone understand?"

"Who placed you in charge Boone?" said Veronica, slightly smiling.

"I did. Now, get moving!" Everyone crowded into the elevator, except for Ulysses and Boone, who waited to catch the next one.

"Well done, you do know how to command some respect from this group after all," said Ulysses. "I do have a question about the Courier, how is he getting to the Gateway?" asked Ulysses.

"He's just walking there I guess. Probably getting some help from people along the way, traveling along the I-40." replied Boone.

"Did you say...the I-40?"

"Yeah, why? Got some friends up there or something? Courier could use the help," said Boone as he stepped into the elevator.

"...No," he said as the elevator doors slid closed.

* * *

Author's note: Been a long time coming and I apologize for the wait. Hopefully it was worth it, if not, well then I got nothing. Enjoy! All critique welcome on whether or not I keep characters in character. Also, the Fiends being hard to distinguish was intentional, they all looked the same when I played New Vegas.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Events near the Hill: Issue #1

Toasters.

Friggin' toasters.

First it was all a the cameras they could grab up.

Now it's toasters.

Butch hated doing the chores for the Brotherhood. But in that note that the Wanderer had left on his desk, it said that he was having a favor called in.

Butch knew what that meant, but that didn't make this any better.

Butch stepped into the shop owned by one of the Wanderer's old research pals, Moira Brown.

"Butch!" Moira said with her goofy smile. "How've you been, that little gang of yours coming along well? What'd you call yourselves again? The Tunnel rats? Garden Snakes?"

"It's the Tunnel Snakes!" Butch yelled angrily, more out of his current hangover than anything. "Oi, she's as scatterbrained as a...a..." Butch thought real hard for a moment, then realized he had nothing to compare Moira to.

"Well I'm sure it'll turn out great once you figured out what to do." Moira said, still smiling "Isn't Jericho trying to teach you how to do a better job?"

Butch browsed the rusty shelves of Moira's shop, the mercenary bodyguard keeping an eye on him as he did with every customer that came into the shop.

"Yeah, he's been teaching me how to keep my cool better in situations. Will hopefully make me a better leader if my mercs ever get off the ground." Butch glanced down the shelves and finally noticed that Moira had not a single toaster.

"Hey Moira! Where in the hell are your toasters?!"

"Ohhh, I'm sorry Butch," Moira said, her smile fading, "When I heard that the Brotherhood was looking for toasters I kind of... sent them all to them."

"Oh," Butch said, "Well, thanks for that, I guess."

And with that, Butch left the shop.

"Why did the Lone Wanderer ever let him into his group?" The bodyguard spoke.

Moira thought for a moment, "From what I heard, it happened when the Wanderer went back to his Vault."

"Everyone knows that, I mean, Butch is such an asshole, 'keeping his cool', whatever teaching he's getting ain't working. Why did the Wanderer let him into his group?"

"The Wanderer told me he could be nice every now and again."

"Why. Did. He. Let him. Into. His group?" The bodyguard spoke, not with a change in his tone, but in the voice he always used when Moira would beat around the bush.

"Have you ever regretted something?" Moira asked.

"...Yes."

"Then there's your answer."

Now, in Moriarty's Saloon, Butch was buying a little bit of booze, and talking with Jericho.

"Even when he's gone we're still being his errand boys ain't we?" said Jericho.

"It ain't like that," Butch said, handing his caps to Gob, "He's calling in on a favor I owe him."

"What for?" Jericho asked, not entirely caring.

"Him saving my life." Butch muttered.

Jericho stared at Butch for a moment, "He's saved all our asses," Jeriicho said.

"Yeah, but, you know, we all rolled with him in our gang, I think back then he saw it as business, you know, before he went all goody-two-shoes on us. Whenever he saved us then, it was just so he wouldn't lose a follower, or whatever he called us."

"Yeah, I guess I see whatcha mean."

"Well, anyways, whenever he saved my life, I wasn't a follower, I was just another kid from the Vault, nearly got killed by one of them Deathclaws, and he saved me, that's the story."

"And he's held onto that favor for five years?" Jericho asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah," Butch mumbled.

"And all he's having you do is pick up toasters?"

"...Yeah," Butch barely uttered.

Butch got out of his chair, and left the bar without saying a word.

"Toaster's, huh? That Wanderer, never know what he's going to stick his nose in next," Jericho sighed holding up his hand for another beer.

"Goody-little-two-shoes' he turned out to be, huh?"

At that moment Moriarty put a beer down on the bar table, but did not let go of it, and looked at Jericho with his trademark grin.

"So you know I'm gonna just say 'Put it on my tab.' Right?" Jericho chuckled.

"Yeah. I know," Moriarty chuckled back, insincerely, "you do realize that brings your tab to 100 caps?"

"Yep, it sure does, don't it?"

"It does," He chuckled yet again, the slight Irish in his voice accenting his hidden rage, "And you know what that means, don't ya?" Moriarty's smile faded, "It means you now hold the record for biggest debt ever owed to me besides that shuffler Gob," Moriarty's rage increased yet again, and he pulled the beer off the table, "So you better get me those caps by the end of the week, or so help me God I'll put a bullet between yer eyes."

Jericho just smirked and put a bag on the table. "I'd like to see you try. There's your damn money, now go bug somebody else. I'll be back tomorrow." and with that, he snatched the beer out of Moriarty's hand and went out the door.

Moriarty just gritted his teeth and picked up the bag. "Fuckin' hell, and I could've used a good doorman."

Jericho leaned on the railing outside, enjoying every sip of his beer. "Always tastes better after bringing that fucker down to size."

Jericho thought on the day that the Wanderer had wandered in to Megaton, all he could remember was seeing someone in a Vault suit talk to Simmons, then walk straight for Moriarty's, then, a few minutes later, get some supplies from Moira's and leave just as fast as he came.

But not before disarming the bomb.

"That was a fun day," Recalled Jericho. Everyone had gathered around the bomb, wondering what the heck the Wanderer was doing, nobody knew him then, his personality, his mannerisms were all a mystery. Yet he just went down to the middle of the town and started messing with the bomb, several people ran to stop him, Jericho even pulled a rifle and started lining up a shot from atop Moriarty's, damn if Stockholm would beat him to the punch again. Before he could though, the Wanderer walked away from the bomb, wiping his hands together. Simmons then came up to him and told everyone that the Wanderer had just deactivated it, so no one had to ever worry about it again, much to the sorrow of the members of the Church.

"That kid always had to be doing something to make this hellhole a better place." He laughed, Jericho didn't mind that the wanderer was a goody two shoes. In some ways he even enjoyed it, sure it wasn't the same as robbing caravans, but the wanderer did make Jericho the head of a special task force, designed to eliminate anything to would pose a significant threat to civilians. Ranging from deathclaws to fireants, if there was something that needed to be killed, long as he was paid, he'd do it. And the Wanderer paid very well indeed.

As Jericho leaned on the railing, he could see that two figures were standing towards the left end of the walkway, watching him. One was Marie, the other was a hulking brute, who drew the attention of everyone he passed.

"Uncle, Uncle!" Marie said pulling on its finger, a Nuka-Cola bottle filled with purified water in her other hand.

"Yes Marie, what is it?" the brute said with a booming, gravelly voice.

"Can I go look around in Moira's store? I wanna see if she has anymore teddy bears!" Marie smiled.

"Yes, just make sure you stay where she can see you."

"Thank you uncle Fawkes!" said Marie as she ran into Moira's store nearby.

Jericho turned his head towards the direction of Fawkes and Marie, smiled and held up his beer towards Fawkes to motion him towards a bench. "Fawkes, you ugly-looking freak a nature, have a seat!"

"You shouldn't call me such names Jericho! Some people might take your jokes as literal descriptions!" said Fawkes as he sat on a bench next to Jericho, the rusty relic creaking and groaning with the massive amount of weight being put on it.

"Oh, it's not like you couldn't rip them a new asshole. I'd offer you a beer, but heh, I'm a bit of an alcoholic," responded Jericho.

"I do not drink, thank you, I'm too busy trying to keep Maire out of trouble right now, the Wanderer has assigned me to be her protector while he is gone."

"I thought she was staying with the Sheriff. Why's he got you babysitting? Heck, you could be guarding high value caravans right now."

"The Wanderer has many enemies, most of which would not think twice about harming those closest to him."

"Ah, so he's got you guarding a very high value target then, his daughter."

"You are correct in this assumption."

"Well, can't say I blame him then." Jericho slouched on the bench and looked up at the sky. "I just got done talking with Butch."

"Ah yes, Butch. He looks up to you doesn't he?"

Jericho simply sighed, "Yeah, he does and I don't really know why. Not like he should live the kind of life I did. Not very admirable, it was great fun while I was living it, but now, there are some things I did I wish I would have done differently."

"Agreed, if I had met you when you were a raider, I probably would have killed you, my friend."

"Gee, that's a great thing to know, thanks Fawkes!", said jericho sarcastically.

"My apologies for offending you." Said Fawkes. Silence fell for a few minutes as the two wondered what else to reminisce about to break the silence.

"So, what was your favorite adventurer with the Wanderer, Fawkes?" Jericho asked.

"Hm...I believe it was possibly our adventure to Big town. When some of my more...uneducated brethren attempted to attack the town. The Wanderer, the town residents, and I were able to fend them off however. Oh, the combat that day was glorious! And not a single life was lost on our side, it was a good day."

"You had no problem killing your own kind?"

"I admit, it saddened me deeply, but they had become nothing but savages. I am truly a very rare case, perhaps the only one of my kind."

"Well, least you got to protect some people. Mine was just me and the Wanderer going to Paradise Falls together and burning the damn place to the ground. Freed a few people though, so I guess that's an upside."

"Indeed. That is an accomplishment."

"Yeah," Jericho said, who let out a sigh, which quickly turned into a cough.

Fawkes, ignoring the cough he had heard so often, went to some of the best days he had had so far in his life.

"I do believe nothing will compare to our days spent simply wandering the Capitol Wasteland. Do you recall the quest we went through to find the code to that bunker?"

Jericho started laughing, having recovered from his cough, and thought of the day they found that stupid holotape, "Man, did that family have problems, but Jesus Christ was the MIRV fun to mess around with, sure made up for the endless scavenging."

"And the Wanderer found yet another bobblehead for that collection of his!" Fawkes said as he gave a hearty laugh.

Jericho, now in the best mood he had been in in quite some time, thought of his other comrades under the Wanderer's leadership.

"So how's Charon been? You know what he's been up to?"

"The Wanderer still has him put on bodyguard assignment for the caravans."

"Christ, did he ever creep me the fuck out," Jericho said with true seriousness in his voice.

Fawkes laughed yet again, "He was unsettling, but an invaluable ally, a shame he has no will of his own."  
"Nah, that's true freedom right there, freedom from your own thoughts, freedom from the burden of your own thoughts, freedom from guilt." Jericho said.

"Perhaps, perhaps. But for what purpose does one exist than if only to follow orders? What should happen to him if he ever obtains his physical freedom? Will he feel empty? Will he go out to seek a new purpose?"

Jericho sat silent for a moment, half in thought, half still swigging his beer. "Yeah true, that probably won't be easy for him. Maybe that's why the Wanderer hasn't released him from his contract yet."

"Indeed. It shall be an interesting time for us all when that happens."

Marie then came walking out of the store, with Moira holding her hand, a big smile was on Marie's face as she hugged three new teddy bears in her arms. Fawkes let out a small sigh, then chuckled and asked Moira how much they were.

"Six caps each!" Moira replied as she held out her hand. Fawkes gave her the caps and Moira walked back into her shop as she amusedly thought about how spoiled Marie was.

Marie looked back up at Fawkes. "I'm tired. Can we go home now, uncle Fawkes?"

"Yes, little one," and they both started to walk past Jericho.

Before he left, Jericho stood up to ask Fawkes a question.

"Hey, Fawkes, one last question. What do you know about the Brotherhood's projects besides the big tin can? Anything I should be expecting?"

"The only thing I know of is that they are currently trying to set up some sort of instantaneous travel system to create better and more secure caravan routes, but are having very limited success."

"Anything else."

"No, my friend, that is it." said Fawkes, Marie tugging at his pants leg.

"Uncle Fawkes! Com'on! I wanna go home!"

"Yes little one, of course. Goodbye, Jericho, may you be safe in your endeavors, whatever they may be."

"Yeah, you too Fawkes, stay safe," Replied Jericho as he looked up at the sky, now starting to turn to night. "Instant Transport huh? That'll be interesting..."

Sorry for the long wait!

-iloveyoualldonthurtme-


End file.
